


Failsafe

by KorrohShipper



Series: What the Future Holds [1]
Category: Agent Carter (TV), Captain America (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Angst, Day 4, F/M, Steggy - Freeform, Steggy Week 2019, The Author Regrets Everything, Time Travel, steggyweek2k19
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-18
Updated: 2019-07-18
Packaged: 2020-07-07 23:10:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,754
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19859560
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KorrohShipper/pseuds/KorrohShipper
Summary: “Barring our resident Capsicle, there’s no way an old and wrinkly—sorry Aunt Peg—woman would become this!” he gestured all over her, and Peggy briefly conceded point to him.It was, frankly, hard to believe that a woman over ninety years of age, whose face was framed by the lines of years, her head crowned by silver, is now suddenly the young, fresh-faced, brunette that she had been all those years ago.





	Failsafe

**Author's Note:**

> **Day 4 (Thursday): AUs and Crossovers**
> 
> This is messy, even for me. 
> 
> Basically, the good old S.H.I.E.L.D. revives Peggy Carter after her death and is in the future AU.

The interrogation room looks like it hadn’t left the 50’s, with the coned strip light that dangled from above and the painfully obvious two-sided mirror.

Peggy was brought out of her thoughts when the door creaked open and it revealed a familiar face, albeit marred by a few well-defined marks of age, who barged inside the room as if he owned it.

Chances are, she reasoned with herself, he does own the place.

“Anthony Edward,” she began with a chiding tone well ingrained into her voice when he refused to even acknowledge her presence. “Is that any way to greet your godmother?”

It was remarkable how much Anthony resembled his father. He paced around the room, the same arrogance seemed to exude him as Howard had, and always seemingly present with a pair of dark-tinted shades that hung low on his nose even if he is inside a building.

There was also the childish immaturity that seemed to plague both Stark men, Peggy decided as Anthony pulled at the metal chair that sat across her. The heavy legs scraped against the linoleum floor noisily.

“Your manners are abysmal, Anthony. What would Maria—”

Peggy wasn’t prepared for a sharp glare and the almost animalistic growl pointed at her. “ _Don’t_ —don’t you even mention her name!” his eyes were narrowed into accusing slits, and for a brief second, Peggy found herself back at the Howard and Maria’s funeral, trying her best to keep Anthony in line.

The pain of the memory brought a pang of pain into her chest. She knew she should have spoken out and revealed Obadiah Stane as the traitorous snake he was.

She shook her head. There was no use in dwelling in the past, she thought to herself as Anthony straightened the nonexistent wrinkles of his suit and sat down across her.

“Now,” Anthony jabbed his thumb over his shoulder and pointed towards the mirror, not breaking at all his glare fixed at her, “I have friends who are waiting just beyond this flimsy piece of drywall to burst in. Tell me the truth and we’re willing to let you off the hook in a relatively, so-so way.”

She rolled her eyes. Anthony was never the master negotiator, or an intimidating interrogator. “Get on with it.” She said crisply which caused him to freeze for a brief second.

Suddenly, a loud sound filled the room. A file was slammed unto the table. She didn’t need to glance at it to know what it held.

“And what is this supposed to be?” she drawled out.

Unfazed, Anthony flipped it open and it revealed a list, unsurprisingly. “Yelena Belova.” She shook her head, unimpressed by the attempt. “Okay, no. How about Sybil Dvorak?”

“Do I look like a mutant Hydra operative to you?”

Anthony shrugged casually, his eyes meeting her in a dare. “I don’t know—are you?”

She bit back a snarky response. Infuriating her godson, as much as he deserved it, would not do her any favors. “I raised you better than this, Anthony. I am Peggy Carter—”

There was a loud crash from the other room, and her eyebrows had shot up, but Anthony simply shook his head and produced a phone and began typing away on the screen. “That’s not advisable.” He didn’t need to specify what wasn’t exactly advisable, but she pressed no further.

He set the phone down on the table and huffed, his shoulders sagging forward. It only occurred to her how incredibly tired he must have been. “Listen, lady, just tell us the truth: who are you?”

She straightened her back against the metal chair. “I told you,” she held her chin up and stared beyond Anthony, fixing her gaze at the mirror. “My name is Peggy Carter and if you would just care to check the document reference codes I’ve given you all, we’d be saving an enormous amount of time squabbling like little children and actually solve whatever crisis you have at hand.”

But Anthony shook his head at her, the wear of exhaustion still on his face, in his eyes even if hidden by the glasses.

“No, you’re not Peggy Carter. She died.”

She shrugged passively. “I know that. That’s why I’m here.”

He raised a skeptic brow at her. “Really? A woman who’s died in 2016 is suddenly alive and well in front of me?”

The year suddenly caught her off guard, her lips pulled into a frown. “What year is it?”

A breath of disbelief came from Anthony. “ _Of all the things you’re_ —” he grumbled something indistinguishable under his breath. “It’s the year 2023.”

The numbers pulled up in her mind, a quick calculation flashed. “It’s been seven years, three intervals.”

Anthony tutted a finger in front of her. “You’re not answering the question— _or making any sense, for that matter_ —Peggy Carter is dead, and you are decidedly not.”

“And how many dead people have exactly remained dead? Steve Rogers was reported to have died in 1945 after—” her breath shook, and her lips quivered, but he didn’t notice it. She quickly schooled her features to perfection, hating how the incident still managed to shake her to her core. “—the Valkyrie was crashed into the arctic and yet he’s alive.”

Peggy didn’t know exactly what gone down between Steve and Anthony, but she knew enough to steer clear from the topic, if the memory uploads Nicholas gave her every interval was to serve her right.

“Barring our resident Capsicle, there’s no way an old and wrinkly— _sorry Aunt Peg_ —woman would become this!” he gestured all over her, and Peggy briefly conceded point to him.

It was, frankly, hard to believe that a woman over ninety years of age, whose face was framed by the lines of years, her head crowned by silver, is now suddenly the young, fresh-faced, brunette that she had been all those years ago.

“Anthony, this ignorance is unbecoming and, frankly, unamusing. What can I possibly say to you to prove that I am, in fact, Peggy Carter, aside from the wealth of information I am offering to you?”

Anthony’s mouth hung open, for a second, about to give her his response when the door flung open.

“What—no, Rogers! Get out, it’s my interrogation!”

Peggy simply stared at Steve, who towered over them, his head merely inches from touching the ceiling. “I’ll handle this.” Suddenly, the rigidness in both the men’s shoulders disappeared an undeniable bond spoke loudly between them.

“Go home, Morgan’s been calling. She’s cashing in on a bed time story. Told me you were a lousy story teller, too.” There was a hint of a snicker to the last part of his words.

It made Peggy wonder what had happened in the following her last memory upload. The last memory upload had been an update on what had happened with the Sokovia Accord, how Steve broke away from the group Anthony founded and promptly became rogues and fugitives.

A ghost of a smile played on Anthony’s lips. “Morgoona.” There was a look of conflict splayed across his face. It was obvious that, for whatever sentiment, Anthony didn’t like the idea of her being alone in a room with Steve. “But, you shouldn’t—"

“Go.” Steve ordered, a commanding edge to his voice.

There was an internal struggle in Anthony. A fight that she never thought she’d see in all her life, and she never imagined that rest would win over duty with Anthony. “I’m having Natasha stay, Cap.”

“She doesn’t have to.”

There was a short static sound that came from a speaker hidden in the walls. “Nuh-uh, I’m staying for the free show.” The static died down and it was only the three of them left.

Steve pinched the bridge of his nose and there was a soft smile that tugged on his lips. “You know what, Romanoff,” he trailed off and the hint of fondness that rolled from his voice didn’t escape her.

It was petty, and she hated it, but her stomach now nursed a churning feeling that could only be described as envy.

There was a short exchange of words that she couldn’t quite distinguish, but it ended with Anthony shooting a pointed look at the mirror as Steve took the seat from across her.

Peggy suddenly didn’t know how to act or what to say. The confidence and the brave façade now replaced with a tension that hung in the air between them.

Steve simply looked at her, an unreadable expression on his face. She took the opportunity to better study him and how different he is compared to the conflicted and confused man who visited her at the nursing home.

“How are you?” she began, voice soft. She tried for a small and hopeful smile, but it wasn’t mirrored, instead he gave her a pained wince.

“ _Who_ are you?”

She sighed. “ _Steve_ ,” he gazed at him, meeting his gaze. “You know who I am.”

When he shook his head, Peggy didn’t expect it to hurt so much. “No, Pe—” he came teeteringly close to saying her name, but he caught himself before finishing. “No, I don’t.”

Peggy steeled herself and straightened her back. “It was in 1942. The candidates had just been recruited into the program and I was readily transferred upon Dr. Erskine’s request to be made the liaison. When I stepped off the jeep, Gilmore Hodge was rude.”

There was a hint of recognition in his features. “And you punched him.”

She nodded cordially. “I did.”

“Anyone could’ve said that story.”

“A month into training, Chet Phillips had thrown a dummy grenade while you were all training. I wasn’t informed of the little stunt, so I tried to run for the grenade, too. Only you beat me to it.”

There was a painful glint in his eyes, one that made Peggy wince in return. “The Smithsonian has that on the exhibit. They have everything on the exhibit, even the conversation—” his voice shook and she felt a bucket of ice cold water wash over her.

A pang of anger coursed through her. What right, she asked vehemently, do they have to release that recording?

Those words had been hers and Steve’s alone, and no one else’s. They had no right to take it away from them.

“Hydra or Red Room?” Steve asked, point blank.

“Neither.”

Steve released a shaky breath. “Give it up. Please.” He said, strained, with tears in his eyes. “If you’re going to wear her face like this, desecrate whatever she worked and stood for, then at least be honest.”

It blew her away, how long it took her to understand Anthony’s hesitation to leave together. The emotional pain it must have cost Steve, to be in the same room as she was. Peggy couldn’t even begin to imagine what he had been through, and while his skepticism had hurt her, it must be unbearable to have lost so much only to face what he could only presume to be a clone or an agent trying to fool him.

All with the face of a woman he’s lost more than once.

His hand laid across the table, halfway, near enough for her to grasp.

Slowly, she inched her hand forward, mindful of the cuffs, and took his fingers into her own.

For a second, she thought that he would brush her hand off, but he didn’t; another hand surged forward, and another tear visibly streaked his face. “It’s not possible.” He whispered, hollow and broken.

“The document codes I’ve given you. Run it across any _S.H.I.E.L.D._ database and it will show you.”

“ _S.H.I.E.L.D_.’s compromised. Hydra was growing inside of it. We can’t trust anything,” words went unsaid, but it was clear it also extended to everybody.

Peggy cursed under her breath. “Then don’t use _S.H.I.E.L.D_., Steve. Use the _S.S.R_. database. There’s a facility, in Brooklyn.”

Steve didn’t look up, but he did say, “Brooklyn Antiques.” He gave a breathless guess.

She couldn’t help a tearful laugh. “Yes!” she cheered despite herself. “Surely you’ve scouted the place?”

He nodded, almost by reflex. “We did.”

She smiled, helping herself to the small tug of victory. “The viewing booth was converted into a filing room. There were files on the experiment.” As if on cue, a woman came inside the room, the door creaked.

The woman had a smirk on her face. It was only when the dusty boxes were planted near Steve’s spot did she spot her wrist. It was Natasha Romanoff, the Black Widow.

Steve hesitantly lifted the lid off the box. He wheezed, in the beginning, at the influx of dust that unsettled itself into the air. He glanced at her, with narrowed eyes and a cautious look. “What will I find in here?”

“Everything about Project Failsafe.”

Steve hoisted one box up. Of the three boxes that were ushered in, it looked most weathered. “Project Failsafe?” Steve trailed behind, taking a file from the box and presented it on the table.

“What’s it supposed to be?” he pressed his index finger on a page filled with redacted and words, paragraphs of blacked out texts.

“Project Failsafe is exactly how it sounds. A failsafe.”

Steve flipped through the pages and saw the unmistakable scrawl of her signature. “How are you here?”

“Back in ’53, there was an incident that forced us— _us being Howard, Chet, and I_ —to appoint an interim director to our new organization. Daniel Sousa.”

A crossed look plagued her, memories of S.H.I.E.L.D.’s early years coming into mind.

“There was a debacle during the Korean War and S.H.I.E.L.D. almost ended before it could get off the ground. It was right up the alley of borderline mad science that Howard cooks up when he suggested it.”

Steve fished out another folder and flipped the cover open, his eyes trailing off each word left unredacted. “ _Project Failsafe_ ,” he read aloud, “ _takes the consenting party, Margaret Carter, to be the recipient of an experimental serum_.”

“It was a biologically locked formula, it worked only with my DNA. It gave me enhanced regenerative healing and it held anti-aging properties.”

Steve’s eyes widened at something he’s read at the bottom of the paper and a nagging voice told her that it was about the provision that she made Howard and Nicholas add.

“It says here that Project Failsafe would be enacted should _S.H.I.E.L.D._ ’s leadership be either threatened or compromised at the time of your _death_?”

She nodded, allowing him to register the words. “Project Failsafe, essentially, is an over glorified intravenous infusion pump fixed to the cryogenic crypt that kept my body in a vegetative state. The pump held the serum and would only administer the chemical should the override key and code— _known only by my protégé, Nicholas—_ is failed to be punched once in every two years.”

Understanding dawned on Steve’s face. “Nick Fury faded into dust when Thanos snapped.” Then, Steve’s mouth hung open, a look of hurt and disbelief crossed his face. “I was there at your funeral. I carried your casket.”

A hitch caught on her voice. “And it was the most painful event I had to remember, darling, but it’s for the greater good. You have to believe me, Steve.”

The palpable sense of loss hit her greater than it should have. A force of air was knocked out of her lungs as she tried to watch Steve come to terms with the information she’s released.

“This can’t be real.” He shook his head and stood up, abruptly, pacing around the room.

Peggy surged forward and tried her best to reach out to the small corner he’s locked himself in. “Darling, I am real.”

His hand flew to his mouth, and a small sob escaped his lips that tore across her heart. The timing wasn’t right, that enough was clear to her. He was still hurting after Barnes had been one of the collateral damages to the flick that the mad titan sowed upon the universe.

“This can’t be happening.”

Back still pressed against the small corner, Steve buried his face inside the palm of his hands. “Please tell me I’m going crazy.” He whispered, voice muffled against his own skin.

Unable to help herself, she leaned in forward with a teary smile. “If that’s the case, Steve, then we both are.”

**Author's Note:**

> Make of it what you will.


End file.
